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Governor Tim Walz’s Eulogy for Melissa and Mark Hortman
Delivered at the Basilica of Saint Mary, Minneapolis
Good afternoon.
As I was standing here, I looked around at what appeared to be the Speaker’s rostrum, and I asked where I was supposed to speak. Melissa would have been quick to remind me: “One day out of the year, you speak at the Speaker’s rostrum—and only at my invitation.”
I know my place.
To Archbishop Hebda, Bishop's Father, and the entire community here at the Basilica of Saint Mary—thank you for this beautiful tribute and mass for Melissa and Mark. And to each and every one of you: thank you for being here to celebrate the lives of these incredible people.
Still, I can’t help but think—of all the people who would be just a little miffed at all this fuss—it would be Mark and Melissa. They never sought the limelight, but they were always at the heart of where good was being done.
To the families of Mark and Melissa: thank you for allowing me the opportunity to say a few words about my friends.
To Harry, Linda, Carolyn, and Ruth—the entire state of Minnesota is grieving with you. You raised remarkable people.
And so did Mark and Melissa. Colin and Sophie, I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. But I’ve had the opportunity to be around you over these last few weeks, and what I’ve seen is extraordinary. The grace and courage you’ve shown during this awful time has helped ease the pain for so many across the state and the nation.
It’s easy to see why your parents never stopped bragging about you. I’ll hear it to the end of my days: “Sophie Hortman said this…” Melissa always used your full name, as if I didn’t know who she was talking about.
You are beautiful reflections of your parents, and we are grateful. We’ll continue to feel the force of Mark and Melissa’s leadership, strength, and kindness through the lives you lead. And I hope you know that this community—this state—will stand by you now and forever.
Melissa Hortman will be remembered as the most consequential Speaker in Minnesota history.
I get to remember her as a close friend, a mentor, and the most talented legislator I’ve ever known.
For seven years, I had the privilege of signing her agenda into law. And because of her and Mark’s choice to serve the public through politics, millions of Minnesotans live better lives today.
More kids in pre-K. Fewer in poverty.
More schools with the tools and teachers they need. Fewer hungry students.
More trees in the ground, and more clean energy coursing through our grid.
Fewer roads and bridges at risk of failure.
More people in safe, secure housing.
Fewer worrying about how to care for loved ones.
That is the legacy Mark and Melissa leave for Minnesota.
But that’s just part of the story. The rest belongs to those fortunate enough to know the people behind that legacy.
That story doesn’t take place in some freezing, dimly lit Capitol conference room. It takes place at CR Billiards, where Mark loved to shoot pool on Monday nights. It takes place in the garden where Melissa fussed over her lilies like they were wayward members of her caucus. It takes place in the kitchen, where Mark nurtured his sourdough starter, Melissa mixed margaritas and baked cakes, and Gilbert sat begging for scraps as laughter filled the room.
We all know Melissa was an extraordinary legislator. And Mark was her proudest supporter. He stood by her from her earliest electoral defeats to the height of her power as Speaker.
Sometimes it’s easy to forget: for all its significance, politics is just people. That’s all it is—a bunch of human beings trying to do the best they can.
Melissa understood that better than anyone I’ve ever known. She saw the humanity in every single person she worked with. She stayed focused on the people she served. Her mission was always to do as much good for as many people as possible.
That was the Golden Rule, instilled in her by her father, and the passion to serve, taught to her by her mother.
Mark’s focus was people, too. It’s no surprise, as you’ve heard, that they met while mentoring a student in Washington, D.C. Mark was a beloved colleague and friend to so many.
Admittedly, I never talked much politics with Mark. I’d try to get a tech tip out of him, but mostly we bonded over our shared love of sweet, sweet ’80s music.
It was this focus on people that made Melissa so effective. Yes, she knew how to get her way—there’s no doubt about that. But she never made anyone feel like they’d been steamrolled at the negotiating table. That just wasn’t her way.
I remember one especially late night—one of those closed-door sessions legislators dread. Everyone was tired. A legislative leader had made a concession, and by morning he regretted it. He said, “I was exhausted, and—if I’m being honest—I had a couple too many glasses of red wine. I gave up something I can’t sell to my caucus.”
Now, anyone in politics might expect Melissa to seize the moment, to leverage it, to express frustration.
She didn’t.
She saw a human being. She gave grace. She sat back down, opened a bag of jalapeño Cheetos, and we went right back to work—crafting a deal that ensured everyone got what they needed.
In the face of this inexplicable, unthinkable tragedy, all of us are searching for meaning—for a lesson that might ease our loss.
Maybe that lesson is this: let’s re-examine the way we work together. The way we talk to and about one another. The way we fight for what we care about.
Let this be the moment we recommit—to politics and to life—the way Mark and Melissa lived it:
Fiercely. Enthusiastically. Heartily.
But never without our shared humanity.
Let’s not do this because of the way Mark and Melissa died.
Let’s do it because of the way they lived.
They led with joy. With passion. With respect. With empathy. With purpose. With humility.
We won’t always get it right. After all, we’re only human. But the best way to honor these remarkable Minnesotans is to continue the work of building a state that lives up to their aspirations—and a politics worthy of their example.
Thank you all, and may God bless Mark and Melissa.
